Page 14 of Blindsided
“Shit,” Wren says, her eyes widening. “That’s... wow.”
“Yeah.” I attempt a smile that I’m sure looks like a grimace. “Found out yesterday. Abandoned our fifth anniversary party and got on this plane instead.”
“Good for you,” she says with surprising fierceness. “Running away is underrated when the alternative is murder.”
This time, my laugh is genuine. “I considered it. But bloodstains are hard to remove from cream carpet.”
“That’s why you go with hardwood,” she says, completely serious. “Much more practical for crime scenes.”
I find myself staring at her, wondering if she is pulling my leg or if she was serious. I look over to her family and wonder if they are killers. And then I feel myself genuinely smiling for the first time in twenty-four hours. Wouldn’t Mark shit if he found out I was talking to the mob.
“First time in Ireland?” she asks, changing the subject with surprising tact.
“Second,” I say. “I went once in college. Staying ata friend’s cottage near the coast.”
“Sounds peaceful,” Wren says. “Just what you need, I imagine.”
I nod. “That’s the plan. Hide out, lick my wounds, figure out what the hell I’m going to do with my life now.”
Across the aisle, Kane is watching us, his expression unreadable. When our eyes meet, he doesn’t look away. Something is unsettling about his focus, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. I break the contact first, turning back to Wren.
“What takes you all to Ireland?” I ask, more to be polite than out of genuine curiosity.
A shadow crosses her face. “Family emergency. Declan’s father... well, it’s complicated.”
“Family usually is,” I say, thinking of Lana’s betrayal.
“You have no idea,” Wren mutters. She glances back at her group, then stands. “I should get back. But Kori? Whatever you’re running from—sometimes the best revenge is living well.”
As she returns to her seat, I notice Kane still watching me. When Wren sits down beside the auburn-haired woman, they both glance my way, then begin whispering. Great. I’m officially the in-flight gossip.
I turn back to my window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Below us, dawn is breakingover the Atlantic, streaking the horizon with pink and gold. In a few hours, we’ll land in Ireland, and I’ll begin whatever comes next.
For the first time since seeing those photos, I feel a flicker of something that might be hope. Or maybe it’s just the relief of distance—every mile of ocean between me and Mark feels like another small piece of freedom.
I close my eyes, exhaustion finally winning over anxiety. As I drift toward sleep, I’m vaguely aware of Kane’s voice across the aisle, slurred but insistent: “I’m telling you, Declan, that woman needs our help.”
“The only thing she needs,” comes Declan’s firm reply, “is for you to leave her the hell alone.”
In my half-conscious state, I find myself oddly grateful to them both—to Kane for seeing my pain, and to Declan for respecting it enough to keep him away.
Chapter 5
Kane
I stumble through customs at Dublin Airport, still half-drunk and completely exhausted. The fluorescent lights make my head throb, but I’m sobering up fast as Declan keeps shooting me death glares. I probably deserve them after the stunt I pulled with the crying woman on the plane.
“Keep up, Kane,” Declan barks over his shoulder, not bothering to slow down as I struggle with my duffel bag.
“I’m moving as fast as I can with this hangover,” I mutter, catching up to the group at the rental car counter.
Rory snorts. “Maybe you shouldn’t have emptied the duty-free whiskey before we even took off.”
“Maybe you should mind your own fucking business,” I snap back, immediately regretting it when Wren steps between us.
“Enough,” she says quietly. “We’re all tired, and we have bigger problems than Kane’s drinkinghabits.”
She’s right, of course. The empty grave. Uncle Tomas’s cryptic letter. The fact that we’re chasing a ghost across the Atlantic. All of it weighs heavier than my hangover.
